Brother Bond
by salvaged.stars
Summary: Paris mourns the death of his brother, and remembers a few moments he's had with him. Nonincest. Oneshot.


Summary: Paris mourns the death of his brother, and remembers a few moments he's had with him. Non-incest. One-shot.

A/N: This is the first story I've submitted here on since... well, since I was thirteen. I'm fifteen now. Whehehe. I actually wrote this for my English class; we were made to write a short story about the Trojan War. I hope you all enjoy this. Read and review, please! Be kind. :)

Disclaimer: Troy does not belong to me. 'Nuff said.

**Brother Bond**

The crowd was silent that dark, gloomy night, as Hector's body, wrapped completely in a layer of white linen, blazed in its pyre. The fire raged tremendously, as if mimicking the legend of the man that it burned. The citizens of Troy surrounded the inferno, mourning softly for the loss of their great hero, for how would they win the war without him? Even the gods, it seemed, lamented Hector's death; the sky was black and desolate, without a single star glistening in the night.

From the palace balcony, hovering over the gathering, the royal family watched the ceremony in intense sorrow. The air seemed to suffocate everyone in the room. Paris stared at his relatives as he stood by a dark corner. King Priam, usually calm and collected, was crying softly to himself, his eyes shut tight, his body shaking; his mother. Queen Hecuba could barely stand, placing her hand on a pillar to prevent herself from falling; her face was streaked with tears. Aeneas stood beside one of his younger sisters as the little girl cried, patting her back gently, and his own eyes becoming glassy. Even Helen had seen fit to mourn, her beautiful face turned red and puffy. But one particular person remained the most pitiful in the room: Andromache, Hector's widow, had a bleak expression on her face. It seemed that she had gone past the stage of simply crying; she just stared blankly at the large fire, unable to blink, not making a sound. Her lips were parted slightly, and her hands were hanging on both her sides. Her eyes had become empty; a listless, dreamless brown. It seemed as if Hector had not died alone—Andromache had gone with him. Behind her, a handmaiden held infant Astyanax in her arms. The little babe gurgled softly, a relaxed, undisturbed expression on his face. It was quite obvious that he didn't have the faintest idea what was happening… he was trapped in his own world, where there was no evident sadness.

Paris gazed at the little babe, who giggled softly and scrunched up his tiny nose. _What a lucky child, _Paris thought sadly, _to not know his father is gone… to not be able to feel the pain, the weight, the immense guilt…_ He closed his eyes. If only… he wished that he did could not feel, or think, or remember. His heart was so heavy; it felt as if he would collapse from exhaustion. He had not cried openly; no, he would not, for he wanted to remain strong…to appear strong. He could not falter now; not when everyone silently blamed him for the Hector's death, and the death of his other brothers, and even worse, the Trojan War. He had heard whispers and murmurs inside and outside the walls of the palace. "How could he take that woman with him?" They gossiped, "Now, look, our Troy will fall into ruins!" Even worse was how the land treated Helen; they scoffed at her, ridiculed her behind her back. She would pretend that she did not notice, but Paris knew she was upset about it. Of course, the only soul two souls who were kind to her were himself and Hector. Paris smiled sadly… Hector was always kind to everybody, even those who were taunted and disliked.

Paris remembered himself as a child. When he was about five years of age, there was a certain girl he loved to tease and taunt. Everybody else had joined in his taunting, but Hector scolded him for it, "She has done nothing to you." He said firmly, "Leave her alone."

"Paris?" A voice called out to him, bringing him back to focus. One of his younger brothers, Gorgythion, stared up at him. The child was barely four, and had large, round eyes.

"Yes?" Paris replied, forcing a smile on his face.

"Why is Hector gone?" The little boy asked, "And why is everyone so sad? Won't he come back?"

Paris let out a breath shakily, "Well, he's…" The words got caught in his throat, "he…" Tears began to well up in his eyes.

"Gorgythion," A handmaiden comes closer, noticing that the little boy's presence had unnerved Paris, "come along now." The child waddled toward her, a confused look on his face.

Paris watched the boy go, and stared at the fire that continued to burn. He could see the outline of Hector's body still, but he knew that after a few moments, the form would disappear.

Once, on the ship approaching Greece, Paris talked with Hector about death, "I can only hope I die a very old, happy man." Paris had said.

Hector only shrugged, "I doubt such a future awaits me."

Paris could only reply, "How could you say that? That's rather unoptimistic."

"I've always felt a certain dread whenever I think about myself dying. I can only hope the Fates have mercy on me."

Paris looked at his brother curiously, raising one of his eyebrows, "You wish to die a painless death?"

"No, I have no need for that." Hector smiled, looking upon the horizon as he said, "All I hope for is a noble cause to have died. For my homeland, for my wife, or for my son, or for a brother…"

Another time, when Paris was ten years old, and Hector nineteen, Paris had snuck out one of his father's stallions. The horse was one of Priam's favorites, its white mane making it appear to be an angel, galloping amongst the poppies. Paris had taken a great interest in the creature too, hence the stealing; he wanted to impress a certain little lady who lived in the village. Unfortunately, the horse was too strong for him, and it escaped his clutches, running away into the horizon. He was frightened out of his wits; he was sure his father would beat him. In his fear, he told Hector of his misdeeds. Though Hector was angry, he did not leave Paris to suffer—in fact, he spent the whole day looking for the stallion. Hector was particularly good with horses; the creatures loved him. By the end of the day, he returned with the animal in tow.

"I'm sorry." Paris was close to crying, "I'm very sorry."

Hector sighed, and patted him gently on the head, "Don't make the same mistake again."

Days later, Paris asked him why Hector helped him instead of leaving him to suffer for his incompetence. He replied, "We are brothers. When you need help, I will be there for you. That is what we do. We are connected to each other, and without saying so, we promise to protect each other always."

"Ah," Paris said, "Like a bond?"

Hector laughed, "A bond of sorts, yes. A brother bond."

Paris blinked as the tears rolled down his face. He lifted up his hand to wipe them away, but upon making contact with his cheek, he noticed how wet his skin already was. _I've begun mourning long ago… _

"What do you choose, Paris?" The gods had looked upon him with such determination.

"I offer to make you king of all Europe and Asia." Hera said fiercely, "Just give me the Golden Apple."

"But I," Athena coaxed him next, "Will bring Troy to victory, and Greece will fall upon your land's shores."

But then Aphrodite, with her sultry voice, told him, "Choose me, and I will give to you the most beautiful woman in the world."

He did not know why he had given in to the goddess of beauty's request. Ten years ago, he was so much more foolish, so much more selfish… He realized now that his choice had destroyed his country, and his noble brother, Hector... His choice had caused this misery.

_But it is too late for that, _he thought; _I can no longer change what I have done._ Would Troy fall for his wrong decision?

He remembered Hector again, brilliant and powerful, but kind and gentle. Paris himself saw his brother kill many men, and bring Troy to victory. But he knew Hector's greatest joy was to return home, to the arms of his family. Trojans had called him their hero, had hailed him, held him to high esteem. What did a man so great do to deserve such a shameful demise—to be dragged around by a chariot, to be defiled, to be tortured even at death. Achilles… How could that man be so cruel? Achilles… _That man deserves to die. _The thought dug through Paris' head like a knife; it seared him, willed him to be Achilles' killer. _To appease for all my mistakes… for all the wrong I've done… _

"We are brothers." The words echo, calling to him, "When you need help, I will be there for you. That is what we do. We are connected to each other, and without saying so, we promise to protect each other always."

_You have always helped me, brother, _Paris said quietly to Hector's burning body, _at the very least, let me help you with this. Lend me your courage. Lend me your strength._

"Like a bond?"

"A bond of sorts, yes. A brother bond."

fin

A/N: What do you think? CLICK THAT REVIEW BUTTON!


End file.
